And Then There Is Apocalyptica

I have listened to rock. I have listened to classical. But, I never really knew either one, till I listened to Apocalyptica. My flatmate, who is a fan, bought tickets for their show when they toured Minneapolis last week, and I went along out of pure curiosity. Till the day of the concert, I was just too lazy to check out their music, which was perfect in hindsight, as what I experienced was well nigh a revelatory experience. Apocalyptica is a Finnish band, and consists of three cellists and a drummer. The cellists are the alumni of the Sibelius conservatory in Helsinki. They know their Bach and Beethoven alright. But, the staple of the band is instrumental renditions of covers of rock songs, like those of Metallica and a few of their own. The performances are chock full of inspired bravado and instrumental finesse. In a blink, Cellos are transmogrified into electric guitars and then into pianos and flutes. Like Deff Lepard threw about their guitars, Apocalyptica play the cellos raised high over their head, held aloft in a single hand. Then, there is the surreal feel of trademark let-your-hair-down routine where the two lead cellists swirl their long locks in symmetric circles in tandem, while their fingers gyrate on the cellos. This is a terrific show these guys put on, don’t miss out if they tour your city.

Can't Quite Lay My Finger On It

I have a funny feeling. A few years ago, I had read a book, a twelve volume book. And in the middle of one of those volumes, I had stumbled upon a phrase, a metaphor, which lingered at the back of my mind for months. Now, something happened which brought back that idea, ingrained in a long paragraph in a book long since forgotten. And I want to reread that, desperately. I want to read over that paragraph, savor the feel of the tongue rolling over each word and chew out the crux of that message. The book is A Dance To The Music of Time. And the quote is about the commonest topic of them all, vicissitudes of life.

A Musical Triptych: Panel Two

Circa Mid 2000s

On the very edge of the same Deccan Plateau is the city lovingly called the Queen of The Dakkhan, Pune. It’s a dainty place swarming with schools of Indian music, and thousands of savants of Hindustani music. In late December, the population of music lovers quadruples. It is the time that Sawai Gandharva is held. If anything deserves to be called the Woodstock of Indian Music, this is it. The festival was started and is carried on with the blessings of Pandit Bhimsen Joshi, the greatest of them all.

Once it starts in the late afternoon, the festival goes on through the night, ending only with the mellow light of dawn. There is a never ending line of magicians marching onto the stage, and the crowd is the most music literate one you will find. Thousands of aficionados cheering on the greats is a sight I will not forget soon. The venue is the grounds of New English School Ramanbaug and giant tents are erected under which a swarm of people sprawls in relaxed poses. At the last festival I had attended, Pandit Bhimsen’s performance was in doubt, he is old, frail and has a fragile constitution. But, at the end of the third day, he tottered onto the stage and proclaimed, I will never not perform at this festival in honor of my Guru. And then he tested his voice, and before long, I was lost in a mystic journey into an otherworldly musical nirvana. A world populated with soaring pinnacles and grand canyons, with rolling valleys and gurgling mountain streams, with the clash of lightning and the lashing of waves. Only the thunderous applause of an inspired throng alight on their feet made me come crashing down onto the earth.

A Musical Triptych: Panel One

Circa Early 1990s

In the fort city of Bijapur atop the arid Deccan Plateau, there was once a noble sultan of the Bahmani Dynasty. His name was Sultan Ibrahim, the Adil Shah. Unlike his barbaric ancestors, Ibrahim was a lover of the Arts and a budding musician. During his reign, he transformed into reality his dream of establishing a city devoted to music. His creation was christened NavRasPur, the city of the Nine Rasas of Indian Music. If you happen to wander into the prickly bush covered outskirts of Bijapur, you might stumble upon the mammoth ruins of desolate palaces of fine art, of bramble covered fountains and porticoed courtyards. (See Photo of Sangit Mahal). If you listen hard, you can almost hear the lilting melancholy tunes of the court musicians. But, I recommend that you go there during that one special week, when the Navraspur festival is in progress. I have been there twice, many many years ago..

In that brief annual flowering of Navraspur, the thorny scrubs of the chaparral are burnt to the ground, and replaced by clean mattresses. The wizened stones which were once the pedestal of the Adilshahi durbar are now the stage. And on that stage underneath the glare of bright lights perform some of the most promising Hindustani musicians in India. It is a dreamscape, the milky moonlight, the soothing cold desert winds, the murmured wah-wahs of the crowd and the trance like vocals of the maestros on stage. All this transported me back into the darbars of those kings of yore.

A Musical Triptych: Prologue

Indian Classical Music is one of those things which make life worth living, a few CDs can keep me contended on my desert island. But there is a very pronounced social stigma associated with it, your appreciation of Raagas is not something to brag about in a posse of teenagers gabbing about Rock , Roll and Metal. So what attracted me to it? Here are three vignettes of the changing appeal and the morphing settings of music, especially of the Indian Classical kind.

Places I Have Been To

The last three weeks have been full of hectic traveling and unparalleled adventure. Here is a list of all the places I have been to in the past few days.

New York, NY
Poughkeepsie, NY
Mystic Bay, MA
Boston, MA
Lehigh Valley, PA
Annapolis, MD
Baltimore, MD
Las Vegas, NV
Hoover Dam and Black Canyon, NV,AZ
Red Rock Canyon State Park, NV

Travel is fun. But only if you do it with an open mind. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. When I travel, I enjoy going local. It is as much about the people and the culture as the places. I like unplanned forays, minimal itineraries, unexpected meetings, and happenstance experiences. Those are the brightest spots you will treasure forever. Here is a sampling

• Getting off at the wrong station at 2 AM on the way to Poughkeepsie. And from the last train.
  
• Drifting into the shadiest area in Baltimore, and being accosted by a stranger who demands you help in buying him a cigarette. Locking all the doors and windows after that.
• Wandering the streets of Little Italy, listening to lilting Italianate accented English.
• Trying to ask directions from Chinese fishmongers in a China Town. And in sign language, English is a alien language there.
• Stumbling into many jovial Greek women at an European Cafe in Times Square and hearing praises about Indians and their 'culture'.
• Going into a Neon-tube covered Diner, in the heartland of Americana, and eating pancakes and fish and chips, while waitresses croon melodiously in the background.
  
• Stopping at the MIT dome after midnight. To go to the restrooms.
• Turning into a oneway, inadvertently, and dodging some angry taxi drivers, coming at you headlong.
• Marveling at the Bellagio musical fountains swaying toPavarotti's Con Te Partiro, and then doing the same thing from atop the Eiffel tower, and realizing that they are designed in 3 D.
• Stumbling upon a whole patch of brilliantly purple, red and yellow wild desert flowers in the middle of the godforsaken Cactus scrubland of the Mojave desert.
• Scrambling for seats in the notoriously busy New York subways, and fondly reminiscing about Bombay, every few hours.
• Chatting with the colorful guide at Hoover dam, who kept cracking jokes about the "Damned" River and "Damn" Tourists, and who took us to see the Stairway to Heaven.
• And many many more......